you all," said the hedgehog. "I have heard the flier's point
of view from the bat, the gymnast's point of view from the squirrel, the
swimmer's point of view from the water-rat, and the assassin's point of
view from the stoat." For a moment he coiled himself up with a snap, but
the stoat made no remark, so he slowly uncoiled himself, and resumed. "Yet
I maintain my original contention, there is nothing like spines. 'The
fox's tricks are many; one is enough for the urchin.' What is the one
unfailing, all-sufficing trick? The proper and judicious use of spines.
All of you would use spines if you could. Most of you do. Think of the
bramble-thickets, think of the furze, the last resort of valiant stoat
and viper, think of the holly, where the sparrows roost.

"Spines are the proved asylum of the spineless. Nature has flung them
broadcast. She starts low down among the plants, thorn and thistle,
gorse and cactus. Then she turns to the sea-urchins and caterpillars and
beetles, then she fashions the globe-fish and thorny devil-lizard, then
she comes to the birds--spikes are their only weapons--lastly, in me and
mine, she reaches the fulness of perfection.

"Think of the purposes spines serve me. Which of you defies the fox or
terrier in the open? I leave the fliers out--running away is not defence.
To me a fight is child's play. The more inquisitive my foe, the tighter
do I clinch myself together. They get more harm than I do."

The last few words were spoken from within. The stoat approached gingerly,
and turned the hedgehog over, seeking for a place to jump at. The bat
wheeled across him, and swerved at the suspicion of those rigid spears.
The caterpillars betook themselves once more to feeding. The water-rat
slipped quietly down the stream,--she still feared the stoat. The squirrel
ran openly down his tree-trunk, and secretly up the far side of it. The
fear of the stoat was on him too. So the moon rose, and, for most, the
chance of sport that night passed away.

The hedgehog remained coiled for an hour. Then he shambled away, well
satisfied. First he eat two pheasant eggs, then a belated frog, and then a
nestling blackbird. As the sun mounted the eastern sky he once more sought
the pile of leaves that lay against the hen-house.

THE END

PRINTED BY WILLIAM CLOWES AND SONS, LIMITED, LONDON AND BECCLES.

[Illustration: The Girl's Realm.]

The Organ of the Girl of To-Day.